


Accidents Happen

by ferix79



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: England's eyebrows, Erogenous Zone, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-25
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:25:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferix79/pseuds/ferix79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a world meeting, someone finds out that England's eyebrows are his erogenous zones! All the other countries find out and take advantage of this...World/England, basically. WARNING-This story contains non-con, but no actual penetration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When England pushed open the double doors to the conference room, suitcase in hand, he didn't expect any different sight from the last hundred meetings to greet him, and he was right. Germany stood up in the front of the room, inspecting the podium and projection screen, while Prussia stared at his laptop nearby in boredom. France was conversing with Spain and both seemed to be cooing over the Italies sitting next to them. As England made his way to a seat near the front of the room, he saw one Italian stand and begin to stalk away, yanking the other along behind. The one pulling—Romano, he assumed, —hastily made his way over to the other side of the table, a deep scowl marring his face the whole time. Because both Italians were heading the same direction as England, Feliciano just happened to stumble and knock heads with England.

If he had just taken longer strides, or maybe walked at a slightly slower pace, the collision never would have happened. But it did, and England immediately felt his legs go weak. He staggered backwards, a hand covering the spot where he and North Italy collided, and collapsed into a chair, dropping his suitcase to the floor. England moved the hand covering his forehead into his line of vision—no blood, of course, but his head still hurt like hell. Absentmindedly, he ran a finger over his forehead and, in turn, part of his right eyebrow.

At the touch, his own touch, a shudder ran through him like electricity through a wire. With a gasp and a moan—which could easily be written off as a moan of pain, England thought—he slumped down into the chair. Well now, he had nearly forgotten about that little attribute. It went to show that he really hadn't gotten any in quite a while…

England's train of thought was cut off by a spluttering Italian running up to him, waving his hands frantically.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, England! My fratello was just pulling so hard and I couldn't keep up and—"

"It's quite all right, Italy. Really, I'm fine." England reassured with a smile, straightening up in the chair a bit. No gentleman should slump that low. Italy smiled back at him and his brother apologized, too, for causing the collision. Just as the two began to turn away, Italy whipped back around to England.

"Wait! I just noticed, your eyebrow is all messed up! Let me fix it, at least, you don't want to walk around like that all day, ve." Next thing England knew, a hand was reaching up towards his face. He tried to stop the boy, but Italy was insistent.

England had to admit; the shocks of pleasure that overran his mind and travelled through his body as Italy touched him were quite amazing. He saw more than felt his own eyes flutter closed, and that soft moan might have been his—he really couldn't tell. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had an inkling that this was a bad thing, but, honestly, how could anything that felt this good be anything but?

Suddenly, the ministrations stopped and England forced his eyes open. He was met with the sight of both Italies still standing before him in the chair. Romano was farther away, one eyebrow arched up and a look of disbelief on his features, while Feliciano was leaned slightly forward, one hand still hovering in midair, away from his eyebrow.

"Ve, England did you try to fall asleep? I just touched your eyebrow for a second…"the Italian trailed off, unsure of what to so.

England stiffened, his eyes widening a bit, knowing he was caught in the most awkward situation possible. His mouth opened and closed several times, attempting to formulate something, anything, to say, but the Englishman's words just died on his tongue each time.

"I…"

The awkward silence continued for a few more seconds, the Italians only staring at England, who was still slightly slumped back in the chair. Luckily, or not so, for England, France chose this moment to sweep in next to Feliciano.

"Ah, mon cher, what are you—oh." The light in France's eyes morphed into a knowing, and sensual, glance for just a moment when he spotted England—splayed out in the conference chair with a slight blush across his cheeks. It disappeared in the next second, though, and he turned back to the Italies. "Perhaps you two should go find your seats? I will help Angleterre recompose himself." The two left, Romano glancing back one last time before Feliciano pulled him along, already having returned to his ever cheery disposition.

As soon as the brothers were gone France faced England, his fingertips pressed together in front of him and a playful look on his face. "Well, I did not know the great and mighty Arthur had any erogenous spots, as they call them." He said with a smirk. England did not respond, his limbs weighed down with a boneless feeling from the pleasure that had previously ran through him. "Perhaps I could…help you along?"

Before the Englishman could protest, France rotated the chair away from the other nations and sat right down in England's lap. The back of the chair was high enough, he decided—only the crown of his head would be visible over its back. Without hesitation, France placed four of his fingers on the side of England's face and ran a thumb over one bushy eyebrow. A gasp and spasm ripped through the smaller nation's body, and he finally seemed to find his voice.

"S-stop it. I-ah-I don't want this." England asserted, back arching slightly off the back of the chair against his will. France gave him a smug smile and pressed his thumb across the eyebrow again.

"Oh, I don't know, Angleterre.  _This_ " he grabbed England's hardening member through his trousers, "tells me otherwise."

At the touch, England let out a moan; an honest, long, drawn out moan which he had been holding in since the Frenchman had begun stroking him. France's smirk only grew. "That's a good boy. You don't have to resist this, you know. You need to relax…" Soon another hand settled in on England's temple, and the shocks of pleasure doubled as both erogenous eyebrows were assaulted.

A series of gasps and breathy moans escaped England's mouth, and somewhere in the back of his mind he garnered the coherence to raise a hand in an attempt to conceal the sounds coming from his mouth. The action was pointless, though, because a particularly hard stroke sent him reeling, his hands latching on to the arms of the chair. He certainly wasn't getting quieter, but France didn't care. Soon enough, the noise coming from the chair grew loud enough to attract the attention of the other nations.

"Hey France, what'cha got over there?" came Gilbert's voice through the quieting conference room. More and more of the nations were turning their gazes to the chair and the top of France's head. The Frenchman gave England a dark smirk, and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before climbing out of the chair. England, much to his own horror, weakly reached for France as he stood, whining at the loss of touch.

"What I have, mes amis," France began, puffing out his chest and pressing a hand to it, "is a…special treat, shall we say. I think we should…seize the moment and make the best of this situation…" he explained as he rotated the chair around, revealing England to the crowd of nations—slumped down in an office chair with his legs spread wide, clothes rumpled, and an expression that, France was sure, just screamed 'iFuck me/i'. Specifically, the light flush from earlier had darkened and his lips glistened with tiny flecks of spit. His eyelids were lowered, hooding his eyes in just the right way to turn them a deep, wanting emerald green. Gilbert was the first to respond.

"Hot damn, Francis. How the hell did you get to him that fast?"

"The answer is simple, really." He folded his arms over the back of the chair, but then lowered one arm to tease the skin surrounding the other man's thick brows. England's forehead began to twitch. "These lovely growths are, surprisingly, quite sensitive." France finally ran his index finger fleetingly over England's right brow. He groaned at the stroke— it definitely wasn't enough.

France flicked his eyes back up to the waiting crowd, trying to gauge the other nations' reactions. Germany looked quite perturbed, Prussia and Spain had widening smiles adorning their faces, and South Korea looked a bit confused, leaning over to whisper to China. The rest of the nations only looked unsure.

"Well, you're not going to just keep him all for yourself, are you?" asked Prussia, stepping forward. France's mouth twisted into a devilish smirk.

"Why, of course not, mon ami."


	2. Chapter 2

The next thing England knew, he was being hauled up and, with a shove form France, he stumbled forward. His feet caught on the carpet and he braced himself for impact with the floor when arms suddenly caught his shoulders. He let out a soft 'huh?' as he was lifted up and pulled forward—directly into someone's lap. Looking up, England found only crimson eyes grinning back at him.

"You're pretty kinky aren't you, Arthur? Who knew an old man like you would get turned on by  _this_." Prussia raked two fingers through England's left eyebrow, eliciting a sharp gasp. England's eyes snapped shut and he arched his back, trying to push his head up, forward, anything just to get  _more_.

While Prussia continued the assault on the nation's brows, England felt himself vaguely being moved around from his haphazard position on the Prussian's lap. His legs were forced open, and his torso was turned to face Prussia more directly. Blinking his eyes open and fighting the haze of pleasure, England glanced down to see his current predicament.

Legs spread and knees holding him up on the edges of office chair. A hand resting on his lower back and his own hands gripping the chair's armrests. What disturbed him the most was Prussia's position.

He was straddling Prussia, and the man seemed to be fully enjoying it. England could feel his now obvious arousal pressed flush up against the other nation's leg. The realization took a second to work its way through England's fuzzy mind, but when it hit him his eyes widened and he jerked away from the hand on his back. The movement, however, caused him to jerk forward, falling on to Prussia's chest. England whimpered and pulled himself up before the albino could react, using his arms and legs to push away from Prussia's lap. At least he wasn't straddling the man anymore.

"Oh, you don't like me? I'm hurt." Prussia did not replace his hand on England's back, but moved it up to England's face to stoke both erogenous zones at the same time. England's legs began to quake at the ministrations, his mouth falling open in pleasure. Several gasps and moans escaped the man's lips, and when he moved a hand to cover his mouth his legs gave out. England ended up right where he was before—straddling Prussia and whimpering like a helpless child. An evil smirk seeped on to Prussia's features and the man's fingers began to stroke faster, causing England to cry out.

"Ahh! Oh…p-please…please stop…" England's brows furrowed and relaxed under Prussia's touch, but his hands remained firmly clenched on the chair's arms.

"Come on, Gil. You don't want to make him come so quickly." A voice said over England's moans as two hands hooked under the blonde's arms and yanked him out of Prussia's lap. England heard footsteps—only three—before he felt himself pressed up against something hard. He opened his eyes—when had they closed?—to find the tanned face of Spain smiling up at him. For some reason, his first thought was that he was shorter than Spain, but he soon realized that he was effectively pinned up against the wall by the other nation. He clenched his legs shut, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was.

"Don't worry,  _Inglaterra_ , I'll treat you much nicer than that German." Spain said, lowering England and placing his mouth close to his ear. A cry of 'Prussian!' did not distract him, and he slowly trailed his tongue along the shell of the smaller nation's ear. England shuddered, his eyes fluttering, and gave a sharp gasp. The Spaniard soon broke his promise, however, as he forced open England's clenched legs with his own knee. The thigh of the other nation brushed only fleetingly against England's cock, but it was enough to bring a soft moan out of his mouth. Spain smirked and released England's arms, which immediately grasped at the wall behind him, but found no purchase.

Ignoring England's various plights, Spain began stroking both of the blonde's large eyebrows at once. A rapid pulse of pleasure ran through England's body, causing him to buck and arch against the wall. When his hips unintentionally thrust forward, however, he halted his movement suddenly.

" _That…that felt really good…_ " England wasn't exactly sure he had done, but his body remembered. England's hips bucked forward once again and Spain chuckled softly, but did not say anything. The blonde's arms—both flattened against the wall, nothing to hold on to—seemed to move on their own as they grasped Spain's shoulders. England's eyes took a hooded look again, and he stared right at Spain as he gave an experimental thrust. The friction—between his member and his own pants and Spain's leg—made him gasp and pant and somewhere in his mind he was disgusted with himself, but that thought was easily ignored. Soon, England was rutting against Spain's leg willingly, too intoxicated by the glorious friction to think of anything else while Spain—triumphant expression on his face—continued to rub and stroke his brows, occasionally blowing hot breath onto his forehead just to watch the smaller nation squirm.

"Look at yourself, Arthur." Came France's silky voice, "Humping the leg of your once greatest enemy like an animal in heat. This is truly a sight to behold." The edges of France's mouth curled up into a mocking smile, and it occurred to England that he should be angry at the Frenchman. Trying to glare at someone was difficult, however, when one's mouth was parted, panting, and a heated flush was spread generously across one's face. It didn't help that he was essentiall being molested by France's best friend, either. England knew France's comments were only meant to get him riled up or make him feel self conscious.

And, well, they might have been working.


	3. Chapter 3

"Honestly, look at you men—thinking you're so great because you're taking advantage of someone helpless." France and Spain turned their attention away from England to find Hungary with her hands on her hips. "You're also essentially giving him a hand job. How did you expect him to react?" Before Spain could protest, Hungary marched over, yanked England out of his arms, and pushed him to a corner of the room, away from the prying eyes of the other nations. England stumbled and nearly fell as he was pulled; his legs felt like jelly from all the stimulation. The wall was a welcome surface to slump against as Japan—blushing and looking away—joined them, cornering England completely. Hungary immediately began to coddle him.

"He's so adorable, isn't he Kiku? He just looks so  _vulnerable_  and it makes me want to…" Hungary reached towards England's brow, but he flinched away, fear present in his eyes.

"Perhaps we should not, Elizaveta. He…does not look like he is enjoying this…" Japan murmured to her. Hungary nodded vaguely, but did not break her gaze on England. The more Japan thought it over, however, the more he was tempted to agree with his comrade. "But perhaps just one touch wouldn't hurt. I mean, it must be—in some ways—quite pleasurable for him." A tiny smirk appeared on Hungary's face at Japan's words.

"You're right, Kiku. What's one, gentle touch, compared to how rough those guys were being?" She glanced sideways to the smaller man. England only continued to cower in the corner, repositioning his arms and legs constantly in an attempt to stay standing. They were a bit right, he supposed—these two would be gentler with him—but that didn't excuse the fact that they  _could_  have gotten him out of this mess.

Kiku nodded at his friend. "Yes, I think I wouldn't hurt. Perhaps we should…each take one side? You can stroke his right while I take his left?" Hungary nodded vigorously, reaching her hand forward in a mirror of Japan's. When the two were just centimeters from England's brow, they looked down at him.

England was slumped against the wall with his legs spread wide to alleviate his arousal while his hands were splayed out against the cool, conference room wall, wishing for something to grab hold of and steady himself. The blonde's mouth was opened just so, enough for soft pants mixed with the tiniest of whimpers to escape his lungs. To both Hungary and Japan, he looked absolutely delicious.

"Okay." Hungary swallowed, shooting one last glance at Japan. Both of them had a light blush dusting their cheeks. "One. Two. Three!" At Hungary's count, both nations swept their thumbs across England's wide, erogenous brows. They marveled at the silkiness of them, having expected to be met with short, course hair.

England's reaction was immediate. The combination of Japan's lighter, yet longer stroke and Hungary's more firm, but shorter stroke overwhelmed him and his legs shook for a second, but then gave out completely. He fell forward, on to his knees, but managed to catch himself on the carpet with his hands. Though the other nations did not see, tiny tears began to gather at the corners of his green eyes.

Whilst Japan and Hungary were preoccupied whispering to each other, a taller nation stomped over and pushed the two out of the way of England, still kneeling on the ground. Clutching the back of his suit, Denmark hauled England up and carried him back to the conference table.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" exclaimed Hungary, crossing her arms in displeasure.

"We're tired of watching you coddle him. We have this one chance to do these things, and it's not going to be taken up by you and your fetishes." Denmark was quick to answer, glancing over his shoulder at the two while he shoved a boneless England down onto the table, stomach down. England was unsure if any of the nations had noticed his tears, but none acknowledged them as one made its way down his cheek and dripped onto the polished wood. Japan moved to speak against Denmark, but Hungary put an arm across his chest, restraining him.

"Let them do what they will, Kiku. At least we'll get a show." She mumbled, turning back to the group. Japan did not seem placated by this, but did not push the matter farther.

With England on the conference table, Denmark had reached up and begun to lightly stroke the smaller blonde's brow, coaxing soft moans from his mouth. England was loosened up and unrestrained from all the stimulation, ignoring the snickers from the crowd when he began to rock against the table. Nothing mattered anymore: only release. Denmark continued stroking only one brow, but then braced his other hand against the table, pressed his long torso flush against England's, and began rubbing his own hardened cock against England's clothed bottom. The action elicited a groan and, reluctantly, England began to push back, causing the Dane to shudder and groan.

"We should get him like this more often, guys. He'll really do anything when he's this desparate." Denmark said to no one in particular with a smile, pushing forward in a particularly hard thrust that caused England to slide farther up the table with a gasp and a whimper. Though he was now assaulted with pleasure on both ends, England still did not like the situation  _at all_. His state of extreme arousal, however, did not allow him to think much past that fact; being bent over a table and molested had left him spread eagle and lying, relatively unresponsive, against the surface of the wood. His mouth hung open and his vocalization was limited to only pants, whimpers, and the occasional moan, all which came from his mouth as Denmark started stroking his brow harder, even ruffling the fine hairs that composed each.

Eventually—England couldn't tell how long it had gone on—the Dane stood and lifted him alongside him, supporting England as he looked around to the other occupants of the room.

"Hey, I don't want to be unfair—which one of you gentlemen would like a turn next?" asked Denmark to the crowd. Many of the nations—even those who had already taken a turn—gazed hungrily at England, who was barely standing himself, pants tented uncomfortably and teeth gnawing softly on his bottom lip. He wondered if, now that he was facing them, the other nations could see his distress.


	4. Chapter 4

Apparently, they did not. All the other nations were sufficiently distracted by the one among them who stepped forward.

"I think I will have a turn now, if you do not mind?" questioned Russia in his ever childish voice. England only had a moment to consider that deceiving tone before he was shoved forward into the man's arms. At first, however, Russia was not rough and easily caught England, turning him around so they were face to face.

"You look afraid, Arthur." His name came out accented. He hated it. "Do not worry; I can learn to be gentle." With a childlike smirk, Russia lifted England and set him down on the carpeted floor. England didn't even lift a finger, only gazing blankly up at the tan ceiling as he was handled. Some of the nations shuffled around to get a better look. England was grateful for the more delicate care, but the weight that settled on his legs was anything but careful. He groggily lifted his head and looked down his body.

Russia was sitting on his legs, as if nothing in the world was amiss. With a groan, England began to struggle and squirm—the pressure on his knees and thighs was becoming unbearable.

"Ah ah ah." Sing-songed Russia, as if speaking to a young child, "I knew you'd try to escape, so this is why I sat on you! It will make things much easier." With that, Russia quickly fell forward, slamming his large hands on each side of England's head. The blonde stopped struggling, and whimpered.

"There, that's better. If you just listen to me, everything will go smoothly." Russia cooed, lifting his right hand and softly stroking one of England's brows. The whimpers only increased, as England could not even open his legs for relief. He shut his eyes, furrowing his bros and crinkling his nose; if Russia was going to have him, he wasn't going to enjoy it.

A sharp yank—an unfamiliar sensation—forced England's eyes to snap open. Russia, with a much more malicious expression, loomed over him.

"Why are you closing your pretty eyes? There's no need for that." He gave the blonde a sickeningly sweet smile before reaching up and—from what England could see and feel—tugging on an eyebrow.

"Ahh! Nooo…please, it hurts!" England cried as Russia, every fourth or fifth stroke, would yank on his sensitive brow. The sensation was not pleasant, but England's cock definitely wasn't getting any softer. Russia, out of nowhere, reached down and kneaded him.

"Comrades, I think he is getting close." England heard Russia's voice, but his mind did not make anything of the words. After several yanks and rough strokes, he was far gone to the world around him. Later, England would look back and not even remember what he was saw at that moment, but only a heard a childish giggle, and then felt the most intense amount of pain and pleasure he'd ever experienced.

Apparently he had screamed quite loud, because when he came back to himself he found the shocked and surprised face of the other nations around him, along with Russia directly above him, hands poised about a foot away from his face. There was silence at first, and England felt a light touch as Russia's hands moved out of his line of vision. "He is still hard…" the nation on top of him murmured, glancing to the other occupants of the room. England barely heard it, the sound of his own panting loud in his ears.

France's voice was the first to break through. "Mes amis, perhaps we should stop here…our dear Angleterre has been through quite a lot…" he suggested, glancing around the crowd. None of the others spoke up, but the Frenchman caught a flash of something in Japan's eyes. The Asian nation said nothing, however, as China shoved his way through the crowd, South Korea on his heels.

"No, France, you were the one who started this; we are certainly not stopping now just because you decide to chicken out, aru." Behind him, South Korea nodded vigorously. He looked oddly eager, France noted.

"But he is not enjoying this anymore—I think that is obvious. He is in pain." France persisted, stepping protectively in front of England, his brows furrowing in concern. China, also, did not back down.

"So we're just going to leave him wanting? He is still aroused, I might point out; someone must relieve him, and you obviously are not adept enough." The Chinese man pushed France to the side with a scowl, and told South Korea to lift England into one of the conference chairs. Russia moved out of the way without conflict, surprisingly. The younger Asian did, and France turned his head away as the chair was rotated away from the main doorway.

"I never got to thank you," China began in a mocking tone, "for all the Opium those years ago. And those lovely treaties." England's eyes were glazed over, his gaze going right through China. He saw the other man's mouth moving, but could not discern a word of what he was saying. After a moment, however, England realized that Russia was not restricting him anymore and spread his legs eagerly, groaning and sinking back into the chair as the slightest bit of relief washed over him.

China was taken aback by the blonde's apparent eagerness, and nearly fell over when South Korea shoved him out of the way. "Stop talking, aniki! This isn't about wars or past events, he can't even hear a word you're saying, I bet! Plus, you going on about the past is only going to bore him." China looked offended at his brother's words, but his expression didn't stop South Korea from leaning forward, towards England's face, and running his tongue across England's left brow.

If England had screamed from Russia's ministrations, no one was quite sure how to describe the reaction to Korea's lick. A mix of moans and high pitched whimpers flowed freely from the man's lips, culminating in a short scream. His body convulsed in the chair, hips pistoning against friction that wasn't there, hands latched onto the armrests, and head thrown back in ecstasy. Some of the nations jumped in surprise at the reaction including South Korea, whose mouth hung open in shock. France allowed his shoulders to slump; at least England had been relieved somehow, though not in a very appropriate way. He regretted sharing England with the others—he had never intended for it to get this out of hand. Under him, he knew England wouldn't leave the room crying, as he inevitably would now. Pushing through the shocked crowd, France eventually came to find England slumped down in the chair, eyelids fluttering in the aftermath. With a gentle nudge, South Korea moved a few steps away allowing the Frenchman full access to England.

France swept some of the blonde's mussed hair off his forehead, sighed, noting the Englishman's lack of response, and attempted to reposition England as to lift him and find a better place for him to recover. As he moved the man's legs however, something brushed against his thigh and France looked down.

England was still impossibly hard.

The Frenchman nearly dropped him in surprise, but managed to mask his shock from the other nations. He left England in the chair and was just about to address the other nations before the conference room doors opened.

"My god, I'm so sorry I'm late! Al is right behind me, but he doesn't understand the importance of this meeting so he's being a slow bastard and—" Canada shouted as he burst into the room, leaning down to catch his breath. When he stood up straight, he found everyone's eyes on him, but he cocked his head at their peculiar position centering around one chair. The chair was turned away, however, and Canada could not see what was in it.

France's lips turned up just the slightest bit. Canada was the perfect diversion for him to get out of the room with England safely in tow. He took in a breath to address the North American nation, but Prussia spoke out first. It seemed that he, too, understood England's predicament.

"Hey Matt! Don't worry your pretty little head about being late, alright?" The albino moved through the crowd with a welcoming smile, leading Canada towards the chair as he spoke, "But, we've got something awesome to show you, almost as awesome as me! You'll love it, I'm sure, now just give me your hand…" Canada smiled back, too passive to refuse an offer. In only a few steps, the two had crossed the room and Prussia had Canada by the wrist, leading the Canadian's hand around the chair and down, down, down…

France watched, frustrated, as Canada's hand crept closer to England's sensitive brown, unbeknownst to the Canadian himself, of course. He could not say anything now. If he did, it would only make the situation worse. Prussia took hold of Canada's middle and pointer fingers, and swept them, quite roughly, across England's brow.

Two things happened at once.

Canada yanked his hand out of Prussia's grip, cradling it as if he had been burned. England, on the other hand, moaned wantonly and thrust his hips up one last time. Now, France was sure, England was finished.

Canada's eyes widened at the noises, still having no idea what exactly was in the chair. No one moved for a moment, all waiting to see Canada's reaction. When the Canadian saw none of the other nations moving, he tentatively reached down and, with a flick of his wrist, spun the chair around. He was met with England's slumped form, looking very sufficiently sated and satisfied, but two streams of tears ran slowly down the blonde's face. England did not seem to notice him, but Canada didn't care this time. After a few seconds everything clicked in Canada's head and he stumbled back from England, revolted.

"What the fuck, eh! Did I really just—? Did you—?" He looked to Prussia with accusing eyes. The albino only chuckled, raising his hands in surrender.

"Yup, you made little Iggy here come. Doesn't it feel great? Having dominance over a nation who was once the most powerful in the world?" He asked with a twisted smile, and Canada did the first thing that came to him—he lunged at Prussia. The Canadian—despite his quiet nature—easily took Prussia to the floor in a flurry of limbs and shouting. Several of the other nations scrambled away or moved to stop the two quarreling, but none paid attention to England any longer.

The noise and shouting had, in fact, roused England into a state of vague awareness. His limbs felt heavy, but after a moment he gathered the strength to lift an arm and rub at his eyes. He was surprised to feel wetness there. Where was he again? The meeting, his mind supplied, but what about after that? Had he fallen asleep or— Canada came into his line of vision, and he remembered that the boy and his brother had been late to the meeting.

"Matthew?" His voice and throat were oddly scratchy, he decided, but he didn't have much time to consider it before Canada moved off the floor and rushed over to him. Everything suddenly seemed much quieter.

"Hey, Arthur." Canada murmured, a gentle smile adorning his features, "How are you?" England almost cocked his head at the question. How was he, exactly, if he couldn't remember a thing? Glancing away to gather himself, England's eyes fell on Prussia.

Oh.

Oh  _God_.

He didn't remember if Canada had anything to do with it, but when he saw Prussia he felt like throwing up. England jerked his head away and pushed himself out of the chair, staggering past Canada. What in the world was in his trousers? It couldn't be— He glanced fleetingly to his right and saw Russia and Spain. Memories flooded him and England stopped to heave right there in the middle of the conference room, arms curling around his torso, but luckily nothing came up.

"Arthur, are you okay? It's me, Canada. I didn't do an—" England felt a hand on his back and, with a spontaneous burst of speed, bolted out of the door Canada had left open. Tears gathered in his eyes, widening the trails already dampening his cheeks. He was going home, he decided immediately, and never coming back to one of these damned meetings again. England probably would have made it out of the building and, at least, back to his hotel had he not run into what felt like a brick wall (but smelt much more familiar) after taking three steps out of the conference room.

"Hey Artie! Fancy seeing you here!"


	5. Chapter 5

"Let me go you git!" England screeched as America grabbed hold of his arms. America only laughed at his flustered state.

"What's the rush, Artie? You were probably just going to get some boring tea or something. The hero's here now!" America laughed again, holding England tighter as he thrashed violently once, but then began to weaken. To America's surprise, England's struggling was nearly nonexistent within just a few seconds.

"J-just…leave me b-be…" Finally, England gave in and let out a shuddering sob, leaning forward into America. The younger nation gladly accepted the weight, but knitted his eyebrows in concern. America had only been here for about a minute; had he really already caused England to cry?

"Arthur…? Arthur, what's wrong?" America asked, but received no response to either attempt. Though he had no idea what was troubling England, he knew he had to be the hero and comfort him. He was a bit worried that England would run if he released him, but America took the chance by moving his hands from England's arms to around his waist, and resting his cheek atop England's head. England himself didn't seem sure how to react, but when America forcefully pulled him against his chest, England choked out another sob and leaned into him heavily.

They stayed that for a few minutes; England still crying and America only listening to his friend's sobs, unsure how to sooth him. Had England not been crying, he would have ventured to call this very peaceful. After a while, Canada emerged from the still open doors of the conference room.

"Al…oh!" he said, gasping as he saw England. America lifted his head and pressed a finger to his lips, signaling to Canada to stay quiet and not disturb him. The northern nation nodded, and quietly made his way to America's side. Cupping his hand, he whispered into America's ear.

As Canada went through his explanation, America's expression ran through a number of different emotions, finally settling on shock. "Oh, Arthur…" he hadn't intended for England to actually hear that, but it slipped out after Canada finished explaining. England lifted his tear stained face to America, obviously still upset but a questioning look in his eyes.

"They didn't…" America began, "They didn't really do that to you, did they? I mean…" America trailed off. He didn't know what he meant, but had the slightest doubt if the other nations—his, and England's, friends—had really done this. Seeing the state England was in, however…

America did not continue, and England did not respond, either. When America felt England start to wiggle around again, he slowly relinquished his grip and allowed England to run away, into the endless hallways and rooms in the building. Both North American brother watched England flee around a corner and disappear, but neither followed him.

"Well, um," Canada started to say, gathering his thoughts, "We can't just leave him alone in this building. Why don't you go in and…deal with the rest of them? I'll go find Arthur. We can take him back to his hotel room, at least." America nodded, a serious and angry expression beginning to surface on his face.

"Yeah. I'll take care of them."

* * *

It didn't take Canada all that long to find England, but the actual search through the building was exhausting. He ruled out the elevators first; England would have known it was too easy to run into other people there. So, after inspecting the current floor, Canada climbed the stairs to the next floor up—the fourth floor. He would check the bathrooms, all unlocked and unused conference rooms, broom closets, ballrooms, and stairways, of course, on each floor and then dash up the stairs to the next. After about twenty minutes Canada found him; curled up on the dirty tile floor of a bathroom three floors up from the original meeting.

"H-hey Arthur." He greeted the other nation, panting from his running. England did not respond, only lifting his head to watch Canada cross the bathroom and sit next to him. England still had tearstains on his cheeks, Canada noted, and let out a small sigh as he flopped down next to him.

"So…I know you're upset—and you have every right to be—but I want you to know that Alfred and I aren't going to think any less of you because of this. What those others did was…a very dirty and cruel thing, and they're not going to be let off easy." Canada turned his head to England, who was now looking forward and slightly down, staring at the tile. "And I know it's been a really horrible day for you and everything, but we can't stay here forever, Arthur, and I'm sure you don't want to." Canada braced his hands on the wall behind him and stood. "If you come with Al and I we can take you back to your hotel room. We'll even help you find a flight home or something, if you want." Finally Canada drew a response out of England. It was only a slight nod and a 'hm' in confirmation, but it was better than nothing.

Canada smiled down at him. "Okay, just give me a minute." He turned away and took his phone out, dialing America, who picked up quickly.

"Hey, I found Arthur." A crackly sigh of relief came from the other end, and then America spoke.

"Yeah he's ready to go back to the hotel. Why don't you just dismiss the meeting? We can do this another day, I'm sure." America agreed and told Canada to meet him out front, by his car. "Okay, sure. Bye." Canada hung up and pocketed the device, turning back to England. He offered the other nation a hand with a smile, and England hesitantly took it. He was pulled to his feet with ease—Canada strength was comparable to America's—and then followed Canada out of the bathroom.

After only a few steps, England halted and discreetly tried to readjust his pants. Canada cocked his head at the motion, but soon realized England's predicament.

"Oh…yeah. S-sorry we don't have anything to help you right now, but the sooner we get back the sooner you can change, right?" A light blush played across Canada's cheeks, and he tried his hardest to give England a reassuring grin. England nodded back and the two continued on.

The elevator was luckily nearby the bathroom, and England had dried his tears enough as to not look strange when they stepped on. Canada punched the 'Down' and 'Floor 1' buttons and the elevator began its descent, only picking up one woman on the fifth floor and then America on the third, who only nodded to both of them in greeting. None of the three said a thing as they traversed the lobby—Canada on one side of England and America on the other—and made their way through the parking lot to America's rented car. With America in the driver's seat and Canada and England in the back, they began the trip back to the hotel. Canada, tired of the silence, broke it right before England put in his seatbelt. He knew that England was still upset, and wasn't going to let the blonde clam up and isolate himself from everyone this time.

"Come here." He said, grabbing England around the middle and pulling him across the back seat. England sputtered at first, but soon settled in beside Canada—the boy's arm protectively around his waist and his own head against the boy's shoulder. Canada leaned his head on top of England's and then took the other nation's hand and began stroking his palm. "Arthur…you need to relax. I don't blame you, but you've been stiff as a board this whole time. Just breathe…" Canada said, closing his eyes and relaxing his own body, willing England to do the same. The man took a shuddering deep breath, but it didn't do anything for him. Canada only continued stroking his palm and America, once they had reached a red light, reached around and patted his knee a few times.

Gradually, Canada realized, England did relax, slumping against him and allowing his eyes to flutter shut. Before he knew it, they had arrived at the hotel and Canada was forced to rouse England.

"Arthur…hey, Arthur, c'mon. Let's go inside." Then Englishman cracked open his emerald eyes and blinked up at the hotel out of the window. He stretched his arms and clambered out of the car, and the moment he stepped onto the sidewalk Canada's arm was back around him. He glanced over to the Canadian briefly, but did not reject the contact. Canada only gave him a tiny smile back, and the three proceeded inside.

* * *

America soon left the two to go to his own room after Canada assured he would take care of England. The two blonde nations proceeded up the elevator—Canada's arm still securely around England—and made their way to England's room. Once by the door, Canada spoke.

"Well…do you, um, want me to stay? I can go back to my room if you'd like some privacy or—"

"No." England interrupted abruptly, looking Canada in the eye, "I would…rather that you stay here. I'll only be a few minutes." Canada nodded, removing his arm from England as the blonde swiped his key card, and followed England inside. The room was dark, but England did not move to turn on any lights. Sunlight streamed in through the blinds, though, so Canada caught sight of his whole room. It was only a basic room, one bed, a dresser, and a desk; perfect for just one person. England hurriedly made his way to his suitcase and grabbed another pair of boxers and some loose pajama pants before motioning for Canada to have a seat and disappearing into the bathroom. Seated at the desk, Canada crossed his arms over the wood and pillowed his head on them, letting his eyes slip closed as he listened to the shower run for a few minutes. He wasn't sure why the other nation had wanted him to stay, but he would have nonetheless. England's own scent mixed with the scent of the hotel room, comforting Canada and reminding him of the past—the good times in the past, at least. When England stepped out of the bathroom—shirtless and hair still damp—Canada lifted his head to see a light blush, though it might have been from the heat, across England's cheeks.

"Sorry." He mumbled, moving to the bed and yanking a plain white t-shirt over his head, "Forgot my shirt…" With that he trailed off, leaving the two nations only staring at each other.

"So, would you like me to leave now? I'm sure you're exhausted…"Canada offered. England paused for a moment, but then shook his head, crossing his arms and looking away. He didn't want to be alone. "Oh…well, you could come back to my room? I mean, you must be hungry. I have food there and we could find you something to eat. I might even have tea, too." England raised his head at this and, after considering it for a moment, gave a slow nod.

"Yes, I'd like that." Canada smiled and stood, moving to open the door as England grabbed something before following him. When England joined Canada in the hallway, Canada noticed the older nation's slippers. He almost giggled, but suppressed it, and led England up a flight of stairs and down another hallway to his own room.

"You got the Presidential Suite?" England asked when he realized where he was being led. Canada laughed, embarrassed.

"Yeah, actually, I share it with someone, so…"He explained as he swiped the card and entered the room.

"You share it? Well you could have told me that before—"

"Hey Arthur!" Came the cheery voice of America. England stepped inside the room and, lo and behold, America sat on the couch, soda in hand and already changed into basketball shorts and a t-shirt. England relaxed.

"Oh, well. I guess that's fine." England moved past Canada and sat on the couch next to America, who gave him a smile that reminded England of an excited puppy.

"He wanted something to eat, Al, so I brought him back here." Canada explained, moving into the kitchen area.

"Naw, I don't mind! I'm glad to have him here." America called back, and the proceeded to chatter on to England about whatever came to his mind. England realized they were probably both trying to keep him distracted, but he didn't mind—the boys only had good intentions. With America talking, England took the chance to turn around and see the whole room. A large desk and several chairs sat at the opposite end of the room, papers already strewn all over its dark wood, and a large grandfather clock was pushed up against the wall behind it. A hallway behind him seemed to lead off to several other doors—bedrooms, perhaps—and the room to his right that Canada had disappeared into was no doubt the kitchen. Finally, the wall nearby the desk was not really a wall at all, but a large, floor length window with a view of the city. Canada then returned with two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. "Complimentary from the hotel." He explained. England thanked him and added cream to his tea. America took a biscuit covered in butter.

The three continued to talk, but in a much quieter tone. The constant 'tick tock' of a large clock nearby along with Canada's soft voice began to lull England to sleep, and before he knew it his head was against America's shoulder, only half listening to the brothers talk.

"I think he's asleep, Mattie." America whispered with a chuckle. England gave a sleepy "No 'm not…" which didn't help convince the two at all. America chuckled again and maneuvered his arm behind England's back. In one swift motion, America was standing and England was in his arms, bridal style. He thought to protest, but decided against the action when he realized how tired he really was and how comfortable America's arms were.

"Hey, you can sleep here for a while, okay? I was thinking of going back to sleep, too, 'cause the meeting is dismissed until tomorrow." America explained, and began walking towards what England assumed was a bedroom. Behind him, he heard the clink of dishes and realized Canada was cleaning up. "He'll probably join us too, in a minute."

America nudged a door open with his shoulder, and England glanced around the room. His eyes widened slightly. "There's only one bed." He stated plainly.

"Yeah, but it's a big bed." England did not look placated. "Well, y'know, Matt and I wanted a huge room, but then we realized that the Presidential suites only had one bed, so we decided to just share it. It's not like we're together or anything, and we used to do it when we were kids, anyway. It's really no different now." America set England down on the edge of the bed, and stepped back a bit, looking down at him. England had the same expression from when Canada asked him if he had wanted to be left alone—arms crossed and eyes diverted. A thought clicked in America's mind. "You're not…uncomfortable with it, are you?" he asked, lowering his voice, timid. England made a noise in the back of his throat, but America couldn't interpret its meaning. He waited another minute and England finally answered.

"Well I…It's just that…" England heaved a sigh and looked down. "I don't know…"

America's brows were knitted together, just staring at England, when Canada entered. "What's wrong?"

America turned to him. "He doesn't want to share a bed." Canada made a soft 'oh'.

"It's not that." England exclaimed, snapping his head up. "I'm just...unsure!" Still not knowing what to say, America looked to Canada.

"Well, you know, if you don't try you'll never know." Canada said, kneeling down to England's level. "Arthur…You know we'd never do anything like that to you, right?" He gave England a warm, loving gaze. "We care too much about you to do something like that, especially if you don't want it. Right Al?" America nodded, also kneeling down. The three just looked at each other for a moment before America yanked them all into an embrace.

"Stop making everything so emotional, Matt. Gosh." America exclaimed, and Canada wrapped his arms around England and America, too, with a laugh. Somehow, England found a chuckle escaping from his lips as he pressed his forehead against America's chest. The three remained that way or a minute before America released them and clambered up on the bed with England. He somehow tore back the comforter and slipped under it at the same time, and then pulled England up with him, throwing the other man's slippers off before pulling the blanket up again. Canada left for a moment to change, leaving England hugged from behind by America, the younger nation's nose buried into his hair. He could feel America smiling, and it made him want to smile the slightest bit, too.

Canada returned in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, and giggled at the two nations' positions. He saw England's ghost of a smile before it disappeared, and slid into bed beside the other two, facing England. Propping himself up on his elbow, he leaned over and gave England a peck on the forehead before settling down on his pillow. England blushed, but waited for Canada to close his eyes before he reached under the sheets and took Canada's hand in his own. Canada's lips quirked up the tiniest bit, but his eyes stayed shut. Snuggled warmly between the two boys, England soon found himself drifting off.

"Sleep well, Arthur." He heard, but wasn't exactly sure which of his boys had said it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transfer over from FF.net. Hasn't been edited since it was posted in 2010, so excuse any errors.


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